I just finished reading Wintering: a novel of Sylvia Plath, by Kate Moses. What a great read! Today’s Time Out! topic, being obvious. Today, I write about my hero: Sylvia.

Sylvia was the first of the Literary Mama’s. A genius and forward thinker for her time, she managed to do it all. Here’s a woman who grappled with depression while raising a family, being a wife, and becoming a successful writer.

I’ve always had an interest in Sylvia. But what I learned in reading Wintering has really made me feel even closer to her. Did you know that Sylvia used to go around painting little hearts on her furniture? I still go around doing these things (except, for me, it’s daisies). I thought I was the only one. A woman who wore her heart on her sleeve, she sure was shouting it out to the world: “I just want to be loved!”

The critiques say that Wintering shows what Ted put up with in his marriage to the chronically depressed Sylvia. Phoey! Sure, there are a few moments where she snaps his head off (and didn’t she have the right? The man ran off with an Elizabeth Taylor 3rd marriage plus hussy!) But over all, Wintering depicts Ted as the second fiddle writer and literary figure that he, indeed, was.

I wonder how far Sylvia would have gotten if it hadn’t been for Ted’s affair. I wonder if she would have put out more novels like Bell Jar or more poetry collections. I wonder if she would have eventually taken her work to the silver screen. I wonder if he would have collapsed in jealousy? I like to think he’d beg her to take him back – only to be rebuffed.

Why is it that all the great ones die so young? Or, is it that, in dying young, they force us to look twice at the short-spanned legacies they leave behind? Are we so attention deficited that we can’t focus on a longer lifespan for a Lifetime Achievement Award?

I used to wonder how she could have left her children in that flat, laying on her kitchen floor. What if they had found her? What if they had frozen to death or starved to death? What if her neighbor “friend” hadn’t discovered what she’d done? I used to have a peice of myself that hated her for that: Definitely not Literary Mama style! But, after reading Wintering, I have more sympathy for her plight. The fact was that she was entirely alone in the world during the time leading up to her death.

I plan to be entirely alone tommorrow. I plan to deal with the blows I’ve been facing lately – Cushings, life with an alcoholic, depression, disappointments, etc. – in a way that celebrates me! I wonder if Sylvia had done this from time to time – if, perhaps, her children weren’t so young when Ted left, she would have found enough juice to recharge herself with days like this.

I never knew the woman, yet I feel compelled to take a day trip tomm to her Northhampton residence. It’s not that far of a drive and it might be fun. I could bring my camera and sit and write. I wonder who lives there now? I think I have just enough gas to get away with it too. Maybe I could swing by the butterfly place on my way home. Maybe that’s how I’ll spend my “Me-Day.” Me, and Sylvia. Does it get any better?

I’m off to bed, with, of course, a copy of Ariel…

Goodnight, Sylvia. Sleep well. You are loved and you are missed.

“Poetry is the bloodjet. There is no stopping it.”

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